Josh And Me

My name is Jennifer. I'm 26 years old, and my husband, Josh, is 27. (Actually he's only four months older, so I'll soon catch up!) We've been married for five years and we have two children, a boy and a girl. We're amazingly different, and I'd like to tell the story of how we met in high school and fell in love, in spite of the differences.

First of all, Josh is six feet tall, with a pronounced athletic build; I'm a tiny person. Not like a dwarf or anything like that -- though it sometimes feels that way. No, I'm just naturally small. I have to stand up very straight to be five feet tall. My frame can only be described as thin, if not downright scrawny. My legs have been referred to variously as sticks, bird legs, stork, -- well, you get the idea. And no, I'm not anorexic. It seems to have nothing to do with my eating habits.

Still, there is something outstanding about me, if I may: I have large breasts.

Well, they're not really all that large, I guess, but on my frame... you get the idea. My bra size is 28DD, if you can imagine. Try picking up one of those at your local ladies lingerie shop. Actually, I order them on-line from a place in London. I don't know if they're custom-made -- surely there are other girls my size in the great webosphere -- but I do have them made without those tiny hooks in back. They just put in a full elastic band, like a sports bra, so I don't have to deal with the hooks.

And then there's the arms thing.

I was born with a condition called bilateral upper extremity amelia, which means, simply enough, I was born without arms. Yep, I'm actually armless. I mean really -- I have no arms. What caused it nobody seems to know. I have an older brother and an older sister, and both have all the normal parts. My mother didn't take drugs or smoke pot -- it just happened. I have beautiful smoothly rounded shoulders without the slightest trace of arms, except for a prominent depression on each side, like a big dimple, right in the middle of where you'd expect an arm to be.

I don't know why the dimples are there. If they were supposed to be the beginnings of arms, why don't they stick out instead of in? I've never figured that out, but what I have figured out is that for some reason they're hugely erogenous. I've had boyfriends since I was twelve, and sooner or later they all stick a finger (or their tongue!) into these little places, and it makes me jump every time.

But to get on with it: between my slim frame and my lack of arms, my bazooms are really out there. I have to say, at least they're decently shaped, with a nice stand-up form and well-defined nipples. I have no problem with them; they don't sag much -- at least so far -- especially considering their size. And I never know whether people are staring at me for having no arms or for having giant hooters. Maybe both, I guess, sometimes.

It was the third week of the fall semester of high school when I noticed Josh watching me. Now I shouldn't have to explain -- a lot of people watch me. But he was really watching me.

I'd gone to school in Ft. Lauderdale since the beginning of junior high, and by now everybody was pretty much used to me and the unusual way I do things.

Except for Josh.

He transferred in at the beginning of our senior year, because his family had moved in from out of town over the summer. Apparently he'd never seen an armless girl before, or even ever heard of such a thing, and was (I found out later) pretty well blown away by the sight -- and even the idea -- of a girl with no arms.

I carry my books around in a backpack, pretty much like all the kids do. Before lunch I stash the backpack with my morning class books, notebooks, and stuff, in my locker and head for the cafeteria. And then when lunch is over I'll go back to my locker and pick up the stuff for my afternoon classes.

The locks on the lockers are the combination type. You just dial in your combination and the door will open. And as you can guess, since I don't have hands I use a foot. It's no problem, really; I've been doing it all my life. I know it looks a little odd, the first few times you see it. I just stand on one foot, slip out of the other shoe, twirl the dial with my toes, lift the handle and open the door. All with my foot. Of course -- no surprise -- I do everything with my feet. I'm right-footed, by the way. I work the locker dial with my right foot, I write with my right foot... it just feels, well, normal.

Sara, my best friend and next-door locker neighbor, has seen me do it at least a thousand times. She doesn't blink, or even think about it. We get to our lockers at about the same time, chatter away about the usual teenie stuff, do our business, and head for the cafeteria.

And then that day, Sara says, "Hey Jen, you've got an audience."

I'd actually noticed. The hallways at this time, just before the first lunch period, are mobbed. Kids are rushing in all directions. Those headed for lunch are rushing to beat the line. The ones headed for their next class always seem to be running late.

But Josh, whose locker was across the hall and down a ways, was just standing there, watching me do the locker thing.

I grinned and rolled my eyes. "Sara -- I always have an audience."

"Yeah, I know," she responded with a giggle, "but this one's kinda hot."

Sure enough, he was a really nice-looking guy I'd never seen before. He was just hanging out, you know, being -- well, casual. Or making the attempt, anyway.

But he was definitely looking our way.

"Okay," I said with a grin, "I'll give him the show." I stood on one foot and with the other, tossed my backpack into the locker, reached up and swapped some books in and out of the backpack, straightened up the junk, fiddled around in there a bit more than necessary, slammed the door closed, and twirled the lock dial with my toes. Then I looked over at him and smiled. He smiled back, then casually turned and headed on down the hallway in the direction of the cafeteria.

"Geez," I said to Sara, "You're right. He's kinda cute. Do you know who he is?"

"All I know," she replied, "is that his name is Josh Rankin, and he's a new senior this year. And... that the girls are falling all over themselves to meet him."

I laughed. "Well I can see why. We'll have to check him out."

We headed down the hallway in the direction of the cafeteria, both still giggling. We didn't see any more of Josh that day, but the next couple of days pretty much the same thing happened: he'd watch Sara and me putting away our books before lunch, and then saunter on down the hallway. If he went on down to the cafeteria we never saw him there.

But then on Thursday, lo and behold, he was suddenly behind me in the lunch line.

Now I have to say, I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own lunch tray. I just bend down, balance it on my shoulder, clamp it with my chin, walk to a table and set it down. I've done it this way since I started school at the age of six. I know it looks precarious, but I've never, ever, dropped a tray. (Not quite true... when I was twelve and in the 7th grade a boy came up behind me and gave the tray a little push. You can imagine the rest. But that's another story...)

Many times over my school years somebody has offered to carry my tray. I always smile and say, "Thanks, that'd be nice." No other situation has netted me more new friends. It almost always results in a pleasant lunchtime conversation, and a new friend -- or at least an acquaintance. It's a marvelous conversation-starter, and a great ice-breaker. From my earliest days at school, word around was that if somebody, male or female, wanted to talk to The Girl With No Arms, but was too shy to just walk right up, well, this was the way. And it worked every time. Social misfit I was not.

By now, everyone around here is pretty well used to me, so it really doesn't cause much excitement. I usually have lunch with Sara, and she usually carries my tray for me (to prevent heart attacks in the lunch room, she laughs), but on this occasion she hung back to see if Josh would step up. And, surprise surprise, he did.

He asked if he could carry my tray, and naturally I smiled and said sure. I did notice several of the girls glaring at me with envy, and Sara just giggled. But we made our way to a table, Josh arranged things, and we sat. Sara, bless her, tactfully selected another table.

Josh turned out to be a perfectly charming lunch companion. We chatted about the usual school things... courses, teachers, our upcoming graduation (we were both seniors), college plans, just the normal stuff.

Never once did he seem the least bit bothered by the fact that I had my legs up on the table, eating with my feet. Once he asked if he could help as I tried to open the soft drink can I'd picked up. Of course I was fumbling on purpose -- I've been opening drink cans without a problem since I was a toddler -- and sure enough, he followed right along. He just reached over and popped the top. I said thanks, he winked, and we continued to chat.

By the time we'd finished he'd asked me out. Score one for the... well, you know. Naturally I accepted, and we made a date for a show the next night, which happened to be Friday.

On the way back to class Sara pumped me mercilessly... what did you talk about? Where is he from? Where will you go? What movies does he like...? I was flush with excitement, and filled her in as much as I could until we reached our separate classrooms. I went to my seat and tried vainly to concentrate on my algebra class. If this kept up I was probably going to flunk -- and math was one of my better subjects.

But the day finally ended, and the next day Fateful Friday began. I'd spent most of the time in the morning before school planning what I was going to wear, where we would go, in case he asked me for a suggestion, what we'd talk about -- all the usual new-guy stuff. I consulted Sara several times during the afternoon, and promised I'd give her a complete run-down.

By the time I got home I'd at least decided what I was going to wear. I chose a strapless summer peasant dress, with an elastic top and a full swirly flowered skirt. It wasn't all that long -- about to my knees -- but the fullness would allow me to prop my feet up on the table to eat in the event we went out for burgers or something after the show, which I expected we would.

And it also solved another problem: the full, swirly skirt would conceal from Josh (for now, at least!) and from the public at large, the fact that I don't wear panties.

I should explain: at home I have all kinds of hooks on the wall, mouth sticks, velcro pads, and whatever else I need, to dress myself without any help. Out in public, though, there really is nothing. So, while I can, with some effort, get panties down to have a pee in a public restroom, getting them back on is really a pain. If this situation comes up, the panties usually end up in my purse.

At school I'm allowed to use the staff lounge -- one of the very few accommodations the school has made for me -- and I keep a mouth stick in the stall in the ladies room. I use it for jeans, especially, but outside of that, it's really easier to just forget the panties.

And besides, it feels... well, sexy... to run around in a skirt and no panties.

The elastic top of the peasant dress came with spaghetti straps, but I'd cut them off -- there was more than enough of me to hold it up without them. And it's completely off-the-shoulder. When I wear it nobody has to guess: it's perfectly clear that I am totally, absolutely and completely without the slightest trace of arms. I consider this to be very important, especially on a first date. I understand that Josh knows full well that I don't have arms, but with this outfit the totality of it hits him right in the face, and I need to see how he's going to react.

I've had boyfriends since I was old enough to know there were boys, and I learned very early that there are some who find the idea of an armless girl about the most alluring and frankly sexy thing they can possibly imagine. And it can't come as much of a revelation that I've always enjoyed this and taken full advantage. I'm guessing here, but I've always figured that for attracting male attention being armless is at least as good as having giant hooters, and in my case having both can't be all bad. At this point I didn't know the exact reason for Josh's attraction to me, but I figured I'd probably find out before the night was over.

I had my sister, Beth, fix my hair; another thing I can do myself, but she does it better, and in a lot less time. I picked out a pair of high-heel platform mules -- maybe I could at least look him straight in the chest -- and I was ready to go.

When Josh came, he rang the doorbell, made polite small talk with my mother (my dad was out of town on business), and rose from his seat when I came into the livingroom.

He opened the car door for me, and fastened my seat belt. Since then we've established some boundaries about what he needs to do for me, what I need help with, and seat belts are not on the list. But that came later. Tonight I just smiled and said, "Thanks."

Actually, I have my own car. It's a shiny red Honda CRV that my folks bought for me when I got my licence. I took regular driver training in school, and passed my drivers test on the first try. And by the way, it has no special equipment. I drive with my feet, of course, and it's no problem. I do get some funny looks if somebody happens to notice, but that's just one more thing that goes with not having arms.

When we got to the show and settled into our seats, Josh cuddled up to me and put his arm around me -- pretty much like all teen couples at the movies. Josh, however, let his hand rest lightly on my bare shoulder, and began to stroke it, run his hand over it, and all in all, pretty much explore it.

I didn't mind. In fact, it was a big improvement over the alternative, which would be to slide his hand down my side and into my bra. As you can imagine, since there is no arm in the way it's pretty easy to run a hand down over my boob. That, in fact, is what most guys did, sooner or later.

And since I wanted Josh to know it was okay for him to explore my shoulder, I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. Then, to seal the deal -- or just to see what would happen, I slipped off a mule and plopped my bare foot in his lap. He smiled, and took it just as if it had been a hand, even lacing his fingers between my toes.

This boy definitely had possibilities.

After the show we headed for one of the usual teen-hangout burger joints. We knew that a lot of the high school crowd would be there on Friday night, and I figured it would be interesting to see how he'd react to being seen in public with an armless date.

We slid into a booth, the waitress came by with menus, and I accepted mine with my foot, of course. I wasn't really worried about the reaction of those around me. We knew the waitress from school, and she was not the least surprised to see the way I went about things. What I was curious about was how Josh would handle it.

I needn't have worried. He didn't have the slightest reaction as I ordered a burger and fries, stripped the paper off my straw and stuck it down in my drink, squirted mustard on the burger, salted the fries, used my napkin -- all the usual stuff -- just as I had in the school lunch room. After the lunches we'd shared back at school, none of this was new to him, and he seemed to have no problem with the few people who were gawking at me.

It pretty much turned out to be a non-issue. We ate, talked, laughed, had embarrassing silences, truly a normal first-date experience. There was never any talk about why I had no arms, or doing things with my feet. I did catch him a couple of times staring at my chest, though -- and each time he turned pink and looked away without saying anything. All in all, I considered it a pretty successful date so far.

When we pulled up to my house he didn't try to kiss me -- a bit of a disappointment. He opened my door (I'd clicked off my seatbelt while he was coming around the car), and walked me up the sidewalk toward the porch. He had his arm around my waist -- not my shoulders -- and when we reached the porch I went up one of the two steps and turned to face him. He was still on the ground, and between the step and the platform shoes we were able to be more or less evenly face to face. We both giggled at this, and he took me in his arms. I wasn't going to miss that good-night kiss after all.

Now when I'm being kissed I normally stand on one foot and curl the other around behind the guy's back to draw him to me. Josh seemed delighted, and held me tight.

It was a gentle kiss. He didn't try to run his tongue down my throat, or get Roman hands -- he just gently kissed me.

And I had to smile, and not just from the kiss. When I pulled him to me with my foot, I immediately realized that he had a huge hard-on. Of course I didn't mention it, nor did he, but as we drew apart he told me what a nice time he'd had and hoped we could do it again soon. I made all the right noises, and as I went into the house and down the hall to my room I could hardly wipe the grin off my face.

That night I nearly ran the batteries down on Percy, my favorite long-handled dildo.

He didn't wait long to follow up. About ten the next morning, which was Saturday, my phone rang. It was Josh. He told me again what a great time he'd had last night, and asked when we could get together again. I was very pleased and excited, and didn't even try to play it cool. I told him that the rest of my weekend was committed to family stuff -- which was true -- but that I'd love to go out again next Friday night. We made another date, and talked for at least half an hour.

I'll skip the conversation with Sara, who called shortly after Josh, and who of course demanded a complete minute-by-minute rundown of Friday night, which I provided as best I could.

The second date, the following Friday, was pretty much a repeat -- different show, nicer restaurant, same late night with Percy. I made a mental note to be sure to pick up new batteries.

And again, he called Saturday morning to follow up. This time I invited him to come over about noon, and we'd have lunch. Then we'd watch a movie or something and figure out what to do next.

Since my dad was out of town again, my mother and my sister had made plans to go into the city to shop, and afterward to have dinner and see a show. They wouldn't be back until late, which left us on our own for a good while. (My brother, Donnie, was in the Navy, in Pensacola, training to be a fighter pilot.) I was ready to advance the relationship, if you know what I mean, and this looked like the perfect opportunity.

Josh arrived a little after noon, with a pizza. Good move! We sat around the kitchen table eating the pizza (and drinking my dad's beer!), and enjoying our conversation -- again, the usual high school senior stuff. After we finished the pizza I excused myself to go brush my teeth. I thought about inviting Josh to watch, but... well, maybe later.

Anyway, we retired to the couch in the den, browsed the DVD collection and selected one. I made some popcorn, which he did watch, with apparent fascination. For me it's just another thing, but of course I do it in my own peculiar way, and he was properly intrigued.

Josh carried the big bowl of popcorn into the den and placed it on the coffee table, along with a couple more beers, while I started the movie.

I probably should explain something here: feet are not, after all, hands. There is no real palm, and the big toe isn't really an opposable thumb. Most people just grab a handful of popcorn, and eat out of that until it's gone, then go back for another handful. I can do almost anything with my feet one way or another, but here's something that doesn't quite translate: it's impossible for me to hold a bunch of popcorn in one foot and eat from it with the other. I have to go back to the bowl each time, collecting a few kernels between my toes, popping them into my mouth, then back to the bowl. I can dump some from the bowl into my lap if I'm wearing a skirt -- still a bit awkward -- but I was wearing shorts.